Northbound on the Piccadilly Line
by Sherringford Holmes
Summary: John Watson works in a mundane hospital until he's given a promotion in London to a specialist mental facility. His life changes on his first day at work when an insufferable patient is handed over to him called Sherlock Holmes. How will Sherlock's past effect John and Sherlock's future together? Slowly updated. Gradual SH/JW. R&R!
1. The Beginning

Hello, whilst writing my sequel I've been quite distracted by this idea. There will be guy love in the future so be warned :)

Love to you all

Nicole

[Music: The Heart Asks Pleasure First- From The Piano {Classical}]

John Watson hurried down the corridor of the clinical building, strip lights shadowing his face as each one passed overhead. His pager let out another shrill cry as he swept into the Chief of Medical Staff's office.

"Ah, Doctor Watson, so glad you could join me," he said, sighing in impatience

"I'm so sorry sir; I've been caught up doing rounds with the interns, one of the doctors decided to go home and no-one realised until one of them said-" John tried to explain but the Chief cut him off.

"Be quiet Doctor Watson, I'm not here to tell you off, I'm here to promote you," he said simply

John's rambling stopped immediately.

"I'm sorry what?" John asked, dumbfounded

"I'm promoting you, you've worked here now for just over 4 years, from your work I think you're the perfect candidate for this opportunity," the Chief continued "it will require you to move but from your dedication to your profession I hardly doubt that will an issue, you have no girlfriend, boyfriend or ties?" he asked, John shook his head awkwardly "yes, well, sometimes it's better this way and you never know, this may be a good opportunity to find someone, start a family, I'm sure you'd want that"

John smiled politely and lightly nodded in agreement "Sorry, sir, but where is this placement?" he asked

"It's in London, John," the Chief replied, smiling at John's reaction, as his jaw hit the white, sterile floor "and don't worry yourself for accommodation, the hospital you'll be working in have it all under control, they'll provide you with the money for it for around a year or so until you get your bearings in the new environment and then you'll start earning your keep,"

"And the salary?" John added hesitantly

The Chief looked around, walking past John, peeking out of the door, checking either way and closing it, a nervous look on his face.

"It's £45 000 per annual," he said quietly "I was just checking no-one could hear, I don't want the others to know this opportunity was open, or they'll all hate me,"

John laughed nervously and started to leave, his legs like jelly and his brain hazed over in happiness.

"Oh and Doctor Watson,"

"Sir?"

"I don't think that I could have picked anyone better," he said honestly, smiling genuinely "the papers will be with by the evening, you can prepare your things to leave now if you like, you are dismissed,"

Breathing out shakily John walked back to his locker room, pulling off his scrubs he still couldn't believe what was happening to him, he was being _referred_ to a better place. _London! _He thought excitedly. As a young adult John had always tried to go to London as much as he could, it was one place felt so at home and compared to the town he lived in now his excitement was almost to the point of being uncontained, John couldn't believe he was going to start living in the place he'd only dreamed to live in a few years ago. And as he excited the building and made his way to his hospital accommodation he couldn't help but feel the spring in his step.

_This is what these years have been for_ he thought_ all the training, the exams, the adrenaline and the revision. This is what I've been working for; to have reached my dream of living in London and to have reached my dream profession. It just feels like my life's beginning to fit somehow, like the many pieces of a puzzle were chucked out at sea but are now washing up onto the beach below, forming the perfect picture. _John smiled even more as he reached for his keys, opened the flat door and ran into his room, desperate to pack his belongings, not caring just how little he had.

X-X-X-X-X

Later that evening there was a knock at the door. John walked over to it, a bottle of beer in one hand and opened the lock with the other. He was greeted by the informal picture that was his former Chief, a file in one hand and a Dominoes pizza in the other.

"This is your information pack, with train tickets and directions included," he handed over the file, then handed over the pizza, John placed the file on the magazine stand next the sofa and returned to get the pizza "and this is a peace offering from me being a complete bastard when you first arrived," he finished, John placed that on the kitchen work surface and turned to see his Chief holding out his hand "goodbye John,"

John smiled "Goodbye sir," he said clasping the hand and shaking it thoroughly and with one more nod of the head and a smile John waved goodbye to one of the people in his life to whom he'd never forget.

Running a hand over his face he picked up the pizza, took a swig of the beer, which had been in his hand all the time, flumped onto the sofa, grabbed one of the pieces of pizza and carried on watching the TV, leaving the file for the morning and when he felt like he could face his exiting new future because if he was honest, it was all moving a bit fast at the moment.

X-X-X-X-X

The next few days flew past far too fast for Johns liking because one minute he was being told about his new life and the next he was waiting on the platform, all his possessions stored within two rather large suitcases as the rest had been gotten rid of or, as John preferred to call it: "donated to the local charity shop". John was never one for sentiments and was quite happy to depart with some unnecessary objects he'd held onto for too many years.

As he got onto the waiting train he took one last deep breath of his hometown, pushed his wheeled suitcases onto the luggage racks as best he could and then took his seat, waiting for the train to depart from the station. After a few minutes the final people ran onto the train in a flustered manner and the door closed with the electronic beeping John was used to and the journey began to his new home.

He watched the countryside whirl by for a while, smiling at the prospect of London but decided to put his time to better use. Pulling out the London A to Z he had in his satchel (he'd had it since he'd been a teenager, it had always been something he'd shied from using on the street whilst in London if he could, wanting to look like a city boy, walking confidently around the city, and he really felt as if he belonged there. He had the map for the hospital he was working at and his new home all on one sheet and he just wanted to go over it to check he had it right one more time. His flat was in St. John's Wood, on Cavendish Avenue, he'd been assured the rent would be kind and that there was two bedrooms and a comfortable living space for him to relax in, a new kitchen and a small back yard.

The two hours passed reasonably well, John decided to use his oyster card for the first time rather than buy a day travel ticket like a tourist (to which he now sniggered at the idea of being a Londoner rather than a tourist) and as he alighted from the train a sense of nervousness and adrenaline swept his system but he brushed it to one side and set off to get onto the right line to get to his new _abode._

Checking his phone for Underground updates (yes, he really had taken moving to London completely seriously) John hopped onto the tube East bound to Baker Street then got onto the Metropolitan Line until he reached St. John's Wood station, got onto Wellington Road and then, after a short walk, found the right hand turning to Circus Road, took another short walk until he saw the sign for Cavendish Avenue and turned off to his new road and his new home. Walking down the street he saw all the houses, they were terrace, Victorian, and incredibly beautiful, their wrought iron gates in a coal black and the intricate swirls that stood on the posts like aged steel guards.

Finally finding his new house he stared in awe at its size. It was a two storey building but it was stunning, the old frame windows were painted white and there was a bay window in the front room, a huge step introduced itself as John lugged his two massive suitcases into the small porch of the house before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out his keys and opening the front door for the very first time.

John gasped as he saw the surroundings for the very first time. The floor was old Victorian white and black tiled with red tiles on either side of the corridor floor leading to the base of the stairway. There was an immediate right turning into the front living room and the second living room was the next right off the corridor, John followed the second right and then walked into the second living room and dropped his stuff, looking around in amazement. The room was completely white, but he'd been told he could paint it any colour he liked but if John were honest he preferred things neat, tidy and clinical. There was a Wenlock fire in the hearth that looked almost original, the quarry tiled floor was authentic and beautiful, the window that was looking out over the small yard he had was on the left hand wall, it was to one side because of the kitchens positioning and let white, clean light stream through as the white voile gave the room a creepy edge, there was also a new sofa, nothing posh, just a cream bog-standard sofa with an accompanying armchair. John wandered into the kitchen, noticing the new oven and the new work surface, noting how the entire house was set up for a person to just start living there.

Exploring upstairs John found the bathroom, the spare bedroom, his bedroom, kitted out with a wardrobe, a set of Ikea Chester-draws and whilst he went back onto the landing he decided to venture up into the attic conversion which was quite small, John realised it hadn't been noted as a proper bedroom because it'd be for a normal family to put boxes of spare possessions but John reckoned it could be quite a nice study to work in if this new job needed him to.

Walking back down the steps from the attic conversion John decided it was about time to start unpacking his things.

But he started by unpacking his favourite mug and a tea bag and relaxed with a cup of tea.

X-X-X-X-X

It didn't take long for John to unpack everything, a few ornaments had come with him and they were placed around the house, making it home. A few books were set over the fire on the mantle-piece and John had set his jacket in the hallway on the waiting hook, as it had waited patiently, ready to serve its purpose.

John sat down on the sofa and knew, in that moment that he'd be happy here.

He also knew something else.

He desperately needed a TV.

X-X-X-X-X

John woke the next morning to the soothing sound of Classic FM. Pulling on his terry cloth dressing gown he walked to the bathroom and grabbed a nice, long, warm shower.

Approximately 13 minutes later he got out of the shower, his normally tanned face, bright pink and flushed, he looked like he run a marathon, not had one of the most relaxing showers of his whole life. Sighing he pulled on a new pair of pants and some clean, smart clothes before walking to his new hospital '_Hospital of St. John and St. Elizabeth' _which was cleverly situated incredibly near to his new house. As he approached the building he noted its gauntness, its shadowy windows, like old men's eyes glared down at John. Its grey brickwork making the gothic period features stand out cruelly against the array of cars parked in front of the building, like the building was disgusted by the colour on the street below.

Using his new pass-card he swiped the modern security door and walked into the large yard, heading for the main entrance, but as he made his way to the door it opened and a tall man walked out. His hair was dark brown, almost black and the natural curls twisted around his pale face, framing it spectacularly. His pale blue/grey condescending eyes followed John as he made his way forward, cat-like features looking patiently at the new man. John assumed he was a doctor, the clinical white scrubs where hanging from the man's thin frame and as John approached him John gave him a warm "Hi" and pushed the door open and walked inside.

Three facts were obvious about what John found out in the five seconds:

He knew this place was a mental health facility, but he would have never guessed it would be to such a severe degree, there were bars on the windows, padlocks on doors, baby doors on the door frames to stop patients from escaping and a box of new straps waiting by the door.

The man outside had certainly piqued his interest because he found he couldn't get him out of his head, even after discarding his relevance to John's (new) life.

John was panicking in his brain. It screamed "Oh god, are those scratches on the walls?" "Is that a stain of blood on the floor?" "Was that a scream for help I just heard?" "I'll never get used to it here…I'm screwed," all at the same time, making John feel light-headed and faint.

Walking into reception as confidently as he could muster he got directed by the receptionist to a corridor just off the main hall and saw the door had:

_Professor Michael Fletcher_

_Head of St Johns and St. Elizabeth's Hospital _

John took a breath and knocked on the door.

"Enter," called a voice

John walked in and saw in front of him a man, in his mid-forties, balding head with short grey hair, thin rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, a nose that John had to admit was larger than most, thin lips and an intrigued look placed upon his face.

"Ah, Doctor Watson, I was told you were starting today," he said, smiling warmly extending a hand "I'm the boss here so if you any questions please, feel free to ask, and I'll do my best to help in any way necessary."

John nodded and let Michael continue.

"Here at St John's, (we refer to here as that, saves time) we have three rules:

One, remember the person you're treating is a human being, so be completely respectful.

Two, always help other doctors or nurses in any way that is possible and finally;

Three, if you find your patient is being abusive, loud and disrupting other patients, administer a sedative as soon as you can, we don't want the other patients to suffer because one selfish patient it making them uncomfortable or upset,"

John's brain was a flurry of cogs _Sedate?_ _What? Surely that isn't ethical, you can't sweep it under the carpet…_ John realised Michael was talking again and he tuned back in to the conversation.

"-because your last boss said that you were extremely hard working and took no nonsense and we need more people like you Watson, we need people who do their job well, and for that special achievement you'll be working with one of our best doctors for now until you get used to this place, then we'll see what happens from there, yes?"

"Urgh, yeah," John said quickly, making sure that Michael thought he'd kept up with the conversation.

"So," Michael, yet again continued, swiftly moving towards the door, beckoning John in tow, "you'll be working with Perry for a while, you can call him Perry by the way, he likes it more than Doctor Birtles, he says it sound more informal and makes the patient connect more on a one-to-one basis with him," Michael chuckled idly, as if the Doctor's ways were ridiculous and unprofessional, when John himself had used the technique to make the patients at his last hospital feel more comfortable with what he was doing for them, they moved in corridors and out of doors until they reached a man who was about six foot and had the most wonderful wavy, jaw length hair, it was a caramel-ginger and it had the occasional ringlet, his chocolate eyes and lean body made John ache.

_This is ridiculous_ John thought as he greeted the man in front of him_ I'm working with a surfer for my first time few weeks or so, how am I going to get anything done with a man who looks like he belongs on a beach in Australia, and should be in red trunks running across a white sandy beach rescuing me from drowning in his big, brown eyes?_

John shook himself from the daydream he'd comatose himself into. He'd never felt this strongly between men before, yes, he was gay, but he didn't check out every man who he met, but apparently his brain disagreed today because it was on overdrive, trying to work out what his _other_ parts, covered in a white lab coat and _lovely _fitting shirt and trousers.

_Stop it!_ He cursed himself, trying to pay attention as he left himself on auto-pilot and bade goodbye to Michael and followed Perry down a ward of men.

"So this is a Mr Jefferson, he is currently undergoing tests for a certain condition we are yet to confirm, we just keep him in bed and make sure he's comfortable with his surroundings, there's not much we can do now, once we get his blood results back we'll have a clearer idea of what's wrong with him," they moved to the next bed, John continued auto-pilot, letting him have until lunch to pull himself together and get on with some work, they moved for a few beds until John was pulled from his trance by a familiar face smirking at him uncontrollably "and this is Mr Holmes, now he's got absolutely _nothing_ wrong with his brain, being able to disseminate my life from how I take my coffee, never did thank you for that Sherlock…" he added sarcastically, to any other patient John would have been shocked by this lack of professionalism but as John looked at the patient he realised it was the man who he'd seen when he'd first came in, he thought he was a doctor but obviously not, he didn't particularly look ill, just like he'd done too many late night shifts.

"Good morning Doctor Birtles," he chimed evenly in a clearly put on cheery tone

Perry narrowed his eyes at Sherlock "Be quiet Holmes," he whispered venomously, John mentally shook himself, this man's nasty side was horrible.

"Tut tut, still not listening to what your councillor is telling you about the anger from your childhood?" Sherlock said back, looking smug.

Perry shook his head, disgraced by the human being in front of him.

"Look, John, I need you to look after Holmes for me, just as a starter, I need to see what you can do before we move you onto the more mentally ill patients, although Mr Holmes here," he spat Sherlock's name with the upmost detest "if giving some of the less able patients a run for their money,"

Sherlock put on a confused face "I'm sure my family aren't paying you to look after me with your kind words of dedication," he drawled "I wonder what they'd do if they found out how you treated me,"

Perry smiled smugly "They're not going to believe you _Holmes,_ because you're in a mental facility and funnily enough, you're in here for a reason," he picked up the chart, still smiling to himself while Sherlock fumed silently, though John could practically hear his blood boiling "_Sherlock_ here is in for a course of mental therapist help, he's tried to kill himself, _yet again_, he needs his wounds re-bandaged and needs a good surveillance on him for most of the time. Him arms need bandaging because he's got into the habit of cutting himself like a love deprived teenager (_sneer from Perry_) and he needs his nails cutting to prevent his skin on other parts of his body from breaking, now Doctor Watson, if ever in doubt, check the chart, you probably knew that already, see you at lunch," Perry gave the clip board to John and winked before leaving Sherlock and John by themselves, the mumbling of the rest of the hospital going unheard for them as they both looked at each other, trying to see if they were on the same page.

"Well, ergh, he's a bit of a wanker, eh?" John said light-heartedly, smiling warmly, Sherlock smiled slightly and knew John meant no harm.

"Yes," Sherlock mused for a few seconds "you know he's married, so there's no chance of you asking him to dinner," he finally said

"I'm sorry what?" John said dumbfounded

"Oh don't worry, it's fine, I thought the same on the first time I came here, he was so nice to look at, but like an onion as you unwrap the layers it seems to just reveal something that seems a bit different to what you first thought," Sherlock smiled and patted the bed, offering John a seat "as you're going to be my doctor for the foreseeable future then I'd rather like to disseminate you, so we can get on a little bit better than me and Perry," Sherlock said simply

John nodded dumbly "By disseminate you mean?"

"Deduce," Sherlock said "deduce what kind of person you are, although I have no doubt you're kinder than your new mentor,"

"Okay then, fire away," John said, perching down on the bed.

Sherlock leaned forwards and looked deeply into John's eyes, he could feel the hands from Sherlock's eyes rummaging around in his brain, in his soul, looking at him, searching him for things and making him feel slightly worried about the amount of power Sherlock had over him.

"You're sibling, how old is she?" Sherlock stated "three, four years older than you? Old enough to know he days of setting an example are over. She's an alcoholic. You try to see her as much as you can but now you've moved down here you're letting her go, the years you've spent tending for her are over, you've decided to take this new opportunity to gather better prospects and live a new life. You had a room by yourself at your previous workplace, your mother and father have moved away from you and your sister, they couldn't deal with the "loss" of their daughter and a gay son, their Christian so I can only assume you were brought up in those rules of homosexuality being a sin because you got nervous when I started talking about me myself preferring the same gender,"

John sat there, transfixed "How did you know all of that?"

Sherlock smiled and leant back before beginning:

"I know you're new to here because of the fact that you have part of a map of London sticking out of your back pocket, printed from Google maps so you don't want to ruin you're A to Z because you'll need it in the future because you're living in London now. I know it's recently because there are a few hair strands, much longer than your own but the same shade of blonde, stuck to your jumper on the left shoulder from where you were comforting your sister, there are a few grey/white strands amidst them, then I can assume she's at a later stage of the loss of hair pigmentation, also women tend to grey/whiten later than men. I know she's an alcoholic because your jumper gives a slight smell of it, your breath doesn't however so I can also assume it's hers too, this is all adding to the idea you're new to London, but you've always enjoyed coming here so you decided to start afresh because you needed to get away and start a family with someone, not a woman but just something to make your life worthwhile. I know you had a non-shared accommodation at your last workplace because you seem very confident with people, you have your space but you don't hold onto the edges of your sleeves like most first day-ers do, insinuating you like people on the whole and don't feel threatened by new experiences. Your mother and father moving away was rather difficult _until_ I picked out that you had a small crush on Perry, then it hit me that you lack a parental figure, your confidence shows me that you've taught yourself how to compose yourself but it's different to how most people do, you seem much more easier than most people John, more kinder, and as for the idea that your homosexuality causes aspersions in your mind, well, I've already explained that…"

John sat there, shell shocked and feeling like _he _was the one needing mental help. This man, this_ incredible_ man had just said to him what it's taken 10 years for him to come to terms to.

"Mr Holmes," John started quietly

Sherlock cut in "Sherlock, please," he said kindly.

John started again "Sherlock…when I first saw you outside over an hour ago I thought that you were just a doctor, but now I realised you're ten times what these doctors are worth. Why, in all that sanity inside your mind, did you try to take your own life?"


	2. Relapse

Hello!

Just a little note to say that this character Mark Michalowski looks like Matt Smith just in case your imagination needs a little boost. And I know, "slow updates" is what I said but hopefully this will give me more of an incentive.

Nicole

Listen to Braveheart Soundtrack for this, specifically: "For the Love of a Princess"

Untitled II

_*Flashback*_

_7__th__ July 2005_

_Sherlock swept into the front room of his parents' grand house, a clipboard in one hand he noted each chore that needed to be completed, Sherlock felt his heart almost burst at the idea of being married, all his life he never thought he'd meet anyone, and then he had found the only person who saw Sherlock for who he was, and he'd never felt happier. Glancing at the ceiling high curtains he also noted they smelt slightly musty, he must remember to tell Stephen to have them dry cleaned, and soon, they wouldn't want anyone to come around and notice the curtains odd perfume. What a complete scandal._

"_Mr Holmes?" a rough voice addressed him from behind and Sherlock turned around to greet his visitor._

_He was a stout man, a head shorter than Sherlock and his eyes portrayed a man ten years older than the body to which they were contained._

"_I'm here on police business Mr Holmes, I'm sorry to inform you but, er, your fiancée, Mr Mark Michalowski was killed about an hour or two ago, he was travelling on, what his mother informs me, was his normal tube route to work on the Piccadilly Line from Kings Cross Station, she gave me your address, but I'll need you to confirm that for me too Mr Holmes," the police officer looked up and saw the taller man sway slightly "Mr Holmes, I think it's best if you sit down, I know this is a shock, if you want I can come back when you're ready, just take my card and give me a call when you're ready, I'll have a bereavement officer come to help you through any of this in a few days," the officer helped Sherlock to the chase lounge. Then left swiftly, giving Sherlock all the space he desperately needed._

_The door opened again and Stephen walked in solemnly._

"_If there's anything Mr Sh-"_

"_Fetch Mother,"_

_Stephen nodded curtly and exited the room._

_Sherlock broke down._

_His heart ached, it hurt so bad, he refused to think it was true, he wanted to wake up next to Mark and realise it was just a bad dream but his rational mind had none of it. His heart pounded in his ears. Bells rang in his head and his tears slipped past his eyes. The door to the living room opened again._

_Then there were arms. _

_Holding him._

_Rocking him back and forth._

_Comforting him._

_But nothing could soothe what he'd just been told. Nothing could stop him from the scream of pain that ripped up his throat and surfaced into the silent room._

"_That's it sweetheart, let it out, let it go," a voice spoke softly._

_And Sherlock did just that._

_He screamed._

_All day until his voice was barely a whisper._

_Even in the night he screamed. _

_Terrors of what Mark's final moments haunted him viciously, Sherlock's vivid imagination plagued him with mental images of his face contorted, blood trickling down his handsome face._

_The therapy began._

_Hours upon hours of worthless time spent in a silent room during the day, then hours and hours spent in a pain riddened bedroom during the night._

_Sherlock couldn't take it anymore._

_He missed Mark so much; his eyes ached and refused to give any more salty rivers as his face started to age and crack into a cliff face. Wrinkles started to become that little bit more prominent on his forehead, by his eyes and deep, black shadows revealed themselves under his eyes, like the shadow of a parasol in the height of summer they sometimes faded a little, but then the sleep would become near impossible and Sherlock would have them return, anything to keep the dreams away._

_Days passed._

_Then weeks._

_Then months._

_And one day he had enough._

_After all the days, weeks, months since Sherlock lost Mark he decided to do something about it. So, on a perfectly normal day, he was allowed to walk to his therapists building but on the way he knew he'd pass a tube station. So he turned into the tube station entrance and swiped his oyster card and made his way to the southbound tubes._

_Standing on the platform he smelt the air one last time, enjoying the smell he'd always loved._

_He grasped Marks tie in his hand one last time._

_He whispered his wedding vows to Mark for the first time._

_Felt the engagement ring on his wedding finger for the last time._

_And walked into the oncoming tube train._

_*End of Flashback*_

John sat on the corner of the bed as Sherlock took a few deep breaths, collecting himself.

"I have no reason to live anymore, John," Sherlock stated simply "and the quicker these people realise that one day I'll have my wish, the quicker I'll be able to let go,"

Tears that had been dripping from John's chin were soon wiped up and he realised that the next second he had enveloped Sherlock into a careful hug.

Sherlock stiffened but John didn't care, he just kept Sherlock in the hug and rubbed his back soothingly.

"I've never met a man like you Sherlock but I can guarantee that you, out of all the scumbags in this world, you are someone who _deserves to live_,"

X-X-X-X-X-X

A few weeks passed by and John got to know Sherlock a little bit better. John wouldn't say they were friends but they just got along. And John found that he was the only one who actually understood Sherlock for who he was, not what he was lacking in social skills.

In those weeks John saw how the men and women were treated, sedated for the slightest of things. Some of the bed sheets would stay unclean for days, soiled sheets that would stay like that for days until someone had had enough of the smell. John found himself disgusted, he'd chosen to come to this place and he was trying the best he could to tend to his patients whilst checking up on the other patients to change their linen and treat them like the human being Michael had described when he'd first come to the hospital.

_Remember the person you're treating is a human being, so be completely respectful_

John scoffed in disgust, "be completely respectful" what a joke, these people are trapped in their bodies with only a fraction of their rational mind and their being treated worse than animals. It wasn't right, but John knew better than to confront Michael, he knew it would earn him no rent and a one way ticket to his home town and a failed career, so he hid in the shadows and did his best to treat as many people as he could in the time he had in work.

As he continued his work he was still assigned to Sherlock; Perry had told him he was the only one who could put up with the "ignorant bastard" and that he was doing a good job, John had just smiled and carried on with his work, knowing that he had to keep his eye on Sherlock because of what he'd promised John, his promise that he was better off dead and at peace, but John didn't believe him, making sure his bandages were heavily tied up and secure because John had a feeling there was more to Sherlock that met the eye, and with most of his hunches, he was normally right.

X-X-X-X-X-X

{A/N: This will help:

Good side of Sherlock's brain is in "Normal lettering" contained within speech marks

The Bad side is in _italics_

Sherlock's thoughts are in** Bold**}

Sherlock sat in his bed later that night; he'd been tossing and turning for a good hour, unable to get John from his mind.

_He's just a doctor, he's nothing special _he berated in his mind

"Yes, that's true but he's a very nice man, I think you'd do well with him Sherlock," another side, a kinder side, said. But true-be-told it was a side that surprised Sherlock because he hadn't heard it since Mark had died, it shocked him that his brain was becoming a little bit nicer, that little bit warmer, and John's kindness was melting that ice that had frozen Sherlock's heart and soul for so long.

_But what happens if you let him in and then he uses you, or dies or makes a mockery of you? Eh, what are you going to do then? When he's left you and made you hurt again, who's going to be there to comfort you that everything's ok?_

"Sherlock, don't listen to that negative part, it's just trying to give you an unhappy life, a cold, sheltered life, I mean…you're in a mental facility, yes, but just _try_ to get better, then John and you could have a proper chance,"

**Fine, okay, but **how** do I get better? I can't just imagine the last six years and three quarters away, can I? I can't stop the cutting or the elaborate suicide schemes? It's what I'm used to now, I know no other purpose, at all, what's my life with another person if I can't remember my personality?**

"Then find it Sherlock, John will help you, I know he will, he's a good man,"

_Have you heard yourself? This is ridiculous, how is this one man going to chance the ways of a genius who's been stuck in the same routine for going on nearly seven years? Get over yourself Holmes. And get used to your tag._

_Worthless._

"I'd wager that if you got closer to him he could make you feel a lot better,"

**How?**

[There was no reply]

**HOW?**

Sherlock huffed in frustration, whilst having an argument with two parts of your consciousness wasn't what the doctors here recommended it had given Sherlock new eyes to the situation with John. He knew that this man, whilst maintaining a completely professional relationship, and not letting on he wanted more, obviously had felt the same spark of affection when they'd first met.

So, the next day, when John came round to do his check up on Sherlock, Sherlock slipped a note into his pocket without him noticing and then waited as he watched John walk away.

He'd set a specific time to meet John but he just hoped he would look in his pockets soon to notice the piece of paper that held everything together.

X-X-X-X-X-X

As John finished up with Sherlock and giving him medication, tucking him into his bed he felt a slight scrape of paper on his cloth bound skin, it was dropped in his pocket, but he made no attempt to even acknowledge it was there and just continued to do his job.

Walking away a few seconds later he turned a corner and hastily pulled out the scrap of paper.

_I know that there's something between us,_

_Meet me in the caretakers office at noon,_

_We don't have a caretaker anymore, he was fired a few days ago and they won't have new one until next month so it's safe._

_SH_

John's stomach churned in delight.

Sherlock knew.

And that was all he needed to make his step that little bit springier.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Noon came quicker than John had expected, one minute he was looking at a clock that said 9 o clock and the next he was looking and it was ten to twelve, John laughed slightly in excitement and made his way to the Caretakers Room, carefully making sure no-one saw him or noticed him slip away for a while.

As he pushed the door to the Caretakers office open he saw a shadow in the far corner, reaching for the light switch John's heart raced until he flicked the switch and saw who it was.

"Sherlock! You nearly scared the living daylights out of me!" he hissed

Sherlock just smiled and captured John's hand.

"John, since Mark I've never felt like this, but you…I've known you for just under a month and it feels like we've been together all our lives, when we first met I couldn't properly decipher you, I could work out basics and impress you but you've intrigued me since our very first glance. Please, let us do this, just if it feels wrong then we can forget it, but if it feels right, let it continue.

"Now I know I'm contained in a hospital but there are other options. You could look after me one to one at my home, I'm sure the hospital wouldn't mind because no-one likes me here if I'm completely honest. There's the option of just keeping it a secret here, maybe that's the better option for you. Maybe not for me because every day I spend in this hell hole I feel my brain wither and die away but I'm not going to use that as a sympathy escape rope, and I know we don't really know each other all that well. Actually, we know nothing of each other if we're honest but I just have a feeling, John, that we're both made for each other. When I'm in the same room as you I feel like I'm searching for oxygen and you make me feel dizzy, I've only ever felt that with one other person but I know I must move on from Mark and I know that you're the next rational step. I can get better if I think of you. Killing myself seems selfish now you're in the picture, and I'm so glad I met you, I just wish we'd sorted things out a little earlier, three weeks is a long time to go in some respects but in others it's just a breath but I really think there's something between us,"

John smiled and walked over to Sherlock, put one hand behind his neck and slowly pushed him lips against the taller man's lips, they moved slowly against each other, soft lips pushing and hands gripping and pulling at each other. John pulled away and looked Sherlock in the eyes.

"I think that's a clear enough answer, don't you think?"

Sherlock just nodded dumbly, feeling more alive than he had in years.

"Let's get you back to bed. And leave the planning to me."

X-X-X-X-X-X

Michael sat in his chair looking at John Watson intently.

"You want to have Mr Holmes in your own personal care?"

"I think it'd be greatly beneficial to his current medical and mental state, I also think it'd show my dedication to you as a Doctor from this hospital, I'd still have a few hours here each week but I think most of my time would be ensuring that Mr Holmes is getting better and making sure he's completely comfortable with everything, I'd give him one to one therapy sessions, and also, I think he'd benefit from having a less patronising and crowded environment,"

"Patronising?" Michael asked dangerously

"Well, think of it this way, it's like asking a secondary school child who is their last year to sit in and complete work done by a first year. Sherlock, I think, finds it incredibly difficult to interact with anyone here because he has a much higher intelligence than any of the patients, he has a much more stable mind, within reason, than most of the patients, he can think for himself and I think he finds it quite insulting to be in a place like this,"

Michael looked very carefully at John as he added something as if it was a last thought.

"And if you don't mind me saying, sir. I don't think many of your work force like him as a patient here in this hospital either," he finished quietly

Michael narrowed his eyes and surveyed John.

"You're sure this "one to one" patient-doctor idea will help?" he asked

John nodded and looked at his boss right in the eyes.

"Oh yes sir, I think it would be _deeply_ beneficial," he said, trying not to laugh at his own joke.

"Fine, you have Mr Holmes _for now_, we'll see how all this goes and then see if it is indeed beneficial for him, then we'll see if this _programme_ should be continued," Michael said slowly "and John, I think many of the doctor here will think you mad for taking on Holmes but I think you'll be getting a warm reception when you tell then they won't have to treat him for a while, we'll inform the family what we've got planned, they shouldn't moan because they've been asking for private for a more _radical_ approach."

John nodded, smiled warmly and said "Thank you sir," before leaving the office with a huge grin plastered on his face.


	3. Dreams and Desolation

**Helllooo :D**

**(Festive little number : Carol of the Bells {Classical})**

**It's truly beautiful song and it helped me write this little paragraph**

**Happy New Year guys and wasn't Sherlock just **_**totally**_** amazing! I was meant to do an 8 hour drama portfolio and ended up not doing it at all and just watching Sherlock again….whilst shouting copiously at the laptop how obvious the answer to the entirety of the episode is…oh well, what a great day :D**

**And can I just say WOW WOW WOW WOW! You AMAZING people, I know that the reviews are lacking in this story, and I hope they pick up a little more but the amount of people who have favourited and alerted this has made my e-mail inbox SO much nicer to look in! Honestly, I'm getting e-mails EVERYDAY!**

**God, I love ALL OF YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE!**

Untitled III

"We're going," John said swiftly, eying up the suitcase from under Sherlock's bed, well actually it was more of a Harry Potter trunk than a suitcase; it was filled with books and lenses, a chemistry set and a sparse amount of clothes.

"Sherlock, you're coming to live with me, and I'm going to do everything in my power to stop the dreams and nightmares you have about Mark; I want you to get better," John smiled as he looked up to see Sherlock beaming.

"Come then Doctor Watson, shall we go to our new home?" he asked as they strode along the corridors towards the exit "I'm sure my brother will have my things moved to my new living quarters,"

John smiled at Sherlock and nodded, understandingly.

"You first, Sherlock," he gestured to the door they had reached, the door to the outside world, a world that Sherlock hadn't been loose in for a long time, but with John he could start to see the future and it was clear that they were going to have such a wonderful time together, John would help him get better and Sherlock would give John the reassurance he needed to make himself more comfortable as a person generally.

Sherlock remembered a memory of him and Mark when they'd first started seeing each other.

_X-X-X-X-X-X_

_Soft kisses were distributed along the taller man's back, making him laugh and twist into the duvet a little more, when the lips reached the raven curls they nestled into them and the owner of the lips sniffed the other man's scent._

"_You know, with torture methods like that I can't believe you haven't wooed more people into your bed," Sherlock said, still smiling intently and looking Mark deeply in the eyes._

"_Mr Holmes, I think you bring out the best of my ability," Mark commented, resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulders and whispering with hot breath._

_Sherlock laughed as he saw his lovers face appear in his peripheral vision, the other man's floppy hair, not greasy, just naturally floppy, brush his own jaw line, making him shiver. Ever since he'd first met Mark he'd felt his vision clear and his brain function with perfect precision. His infatuation with the other man helped him in every aspect of his work, he could relate more to the human actions of the murders he was solving, he could see everything so much more _clearly_, like someone had wiped down an old dusty window to reveal a beautiful landscape behind the grime and muck._

"_I've got to go into work Sherlock," Mark said as he kissed Sherlock lightly on the cheek "I promise I'll be home for tea, how about Chinese tonight? I can get it as I go through Leicester Square, I'll just pop off the tube, pick it up and be on my way home, yeah?"_

_Sherlock nodded and turned over to face Mark before ravishing his lips before he was able leave him with a cold bed._

_A few minutes later Mark was hurriedly getting dressed and was putting on his tie as Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt from the bottom, his hands slipping in and onto the warm skin that was underneath the cotton shirt._

"_Sherlock," Mark groaned, reaching for the man's hands "Stop….please….I _need_ to go to work, we can't all be like you and have a job that suits their personality and sweep around London like a bloody Greek god,"_

_Sherlock smirked slightly "Greek god?" he mocked, casually._

_Mark turned around and looked at him sternly "Now don't think just because you're so bloody gorgeous that you can get a big head, have a good day,"_

_Sherlock nodded and pulled Marks coat from the hook on the back of the front door and opened it for him to slip his arms into._

"_Have a good day," Sherlock said before handing Mark his keys and opening the front door for him._

"_You know, you really are a gentleman," Mark smiled "see you later sexy," he mocked a melodramatic kiss and left the building._

_Sherlock closed the front door whilst biting his lip. He liked Mark. A lot. _

_Walking into their bedroom he flopped onto the bed and smelt Marks pillow._

_So nice._

_X-X-X-X-X-X_

"Sherlock?" Johns voice echoed through his consciousness and roused Sherlock from his dreaming state, he instantly felt a pang of grief, Mark was gone, again, no matter how many times he visited the past, the present would always catch up with him.

John walked over to Sherlock, putting a hand on his arm "Mark?"

Sherlock nodded sadly.

"It's okay," John hugged Sherlock awkwardly "that's why you're here, to make sure you can remember him, but not feel in any way responsible for what happened,"

Sherlock nodded again.

John reached for Sherlock's chin and used one finger to pick it up and reach his eyes.

"Welcome home,"

Sherlock smiled and leant down and captured John's lips in a heart stopping kiss, John, without thinking, started to push Sherlock to the sofa, trying to get them in a more comfortable position.

"Nnh- John—no, wait, urgh," Sherlock protested and John came up for air.

"Shit sorry, got carried away," John blushed as he spoke, Sherlock had never seen something quite so adorable in a man before, he reached up and stroked John's cheek with the back of one finger.

"I've waited for someone so amazing to come into my life and save me from the darkness, I'm just scared that you're going to leave me too," Sherlock whispered

John looked carefully at the other man, at how impossibly clever he was and how someone as insignificant as John Watson could make him better.

"I'm not going anywhere, however if you're going to douse me in flattery I might need a minute to compose myself, I've always been told I'm normal and just, completely average,"

Sherlock shook his head, and screwed his eyes shut with the passion of what he was about to say "You are nothing like an ordinary human being John, you're so kind and sensitive, you make me feel like I've blackmailed you into our agreement, you're just the second miracle that I've been given, flawless in every way, beautiful in every way, and mine, if I might be allowed, in every way,"

"Of course I'm yours in every way," John answered, leaning forwards and taking another kiss from Sherlock.

X-X-X-X-X-X

A few days passed and John was more and more sure that Sherlock was in need of the very best therapist he could get. He was going to get Sherlock out of this deep, dank hole he'd buried himself into over the years and make sure he was back to, what John hoped would be, his normal self.

Looking up and down for the best therapist John found one, a Mrs Martha Hudson, a trained therapist and had treated many well know, high status people and as Sherlock had assured John that money was no issue in his family or the hospital (who made regular checks), John had booked her almost instantaneously.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"Good morning Mr Holmes," Mrs Hudson said, gesturing for Sherlock to sit down "please, take a seat and make yourself at home,"

Sherlock nodded and breathed deeply.

"Now, I've been given notes by your hospital and your personal doctor himself, he's such a lovely man isn't he? You're incredibly lucky lad to have such a brilliant man with you," Mrs Hudson continued "he says you have under laying grief and resentment with yourself that needs help, now, I've help many with this sort of unhappiness, and I always start with the same question, so I can get to know you a little better and vice versa, how did this start?"

Sherlock looked into the older woman's eyes for a few moment, deducing whether it was safe for him to tell her, he noted within a few seconds that she had dealt with grief herself and that was why she had become a therapist, to help others, all he saw in her eyes was pure trust and loyalty to her customers/patients. And he knew he could put his confidence in her.

And he told her the story he'd told John, the doctors, Mummy, Mycroft and Sherringford.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Sherlock got home a few hours later and found himself all alone, a note was stuck to the fridge.

_Just popped to the hospital for some of your medication I've prescribed in your name, I hope you don't mind._

_Yours, _

_John _

_: )_

Sherlock took the note from the fridge and placed inside his pocket. A smiley? Really? Had John turned their new found love into a badly written romantic comedy? Sherlock liked the idea of John being his, that made his insides warm up, and melt another barrier between him and the world slowly melt into nothingness.

Sherlock went into his new room, the attic room, he'd chosen it himself, whilst he liked the idea of sleeping in the same bed as John he also liked to toy with the idea of having a room for himself if he needed some space, and John, being the flawless human being, had understood, not taken offence and had actually encouraged the idea, saying it would give them a healthier and more refreshing relationship. Sherlock couldn't believe what he'd found with John, not matter how many time he said it he still couldn't believe it. John was his.

Looking under his bed he pulled out a shoe box filled with one pair of his Yves Saint Laurent's and took the shoes out and placed them carefully on the floor. He made a little bed with the tissue paper at the bottom and placed the note inside it, wanting to fill the box with John. And that's what he tried to do; racing down the stairs he walked into John's room and looked around for any small bits and pieces, he noticed a pot of hand cream, a small, on the go size, with a diameter probably no bigger than a mini-disk. Picking it up and slipping it in his pocket Sherlock continued to look for more mementoes that signified John and he found, in total:

A newspaper

A photo of John from his university days

An old Christmas card from his mother from a good few years ago

A set of dominoes in an antique wooden casing

And John's invalid, out of date, oyster card from what looked like six or seven years ago from when he was a teenager visiting the city

Quite happy with his hoard he took them upstairs and placed them neatly into the box and then replaced the box underneath his bed.

Sherlock wasn't sure _why_ he wanted to steal these things; he just thought that if he had enough of John's things he could be closer to John.

The front door slammed suddenly, frightening Sherlock, something he wasn't used to and didn't particularly like.

"Sherlock, I'm home!" John's voice shouted around the flat.

"Sherlock?" Johns voice called as he walked up to the stairs to Sherlock's room "you in there?"

Sherlock hurried and made sure the bedding fell causally over the edge of the bed, so John wouldn't rouse any suspicion, then placing himself on the bed like he'd been there all the time.

There was a knock.

"Come in John," Sherlock answered and the door opened slowly to reveal his friend looking slightly worried.

"You okay?" John asked as he edged into the room

"Mmm," Sherlock replied loosely, not meeting John's eyes.

John walked over to Sherlock and plonked himself on the bed next to him.

"I know this is weird, I know that it's difficult to get used to the idea of no longer having observation and only me as your doctor-" John started

"John it's not about that, I'm completely comfortable with you as my doctor and with living here in privacy away from those brain numbing nurses, its just the worries of a relationship, that's all. I know how people like you advance in relationships, you initiate intercourse…but I don't think I can do that, not yet anyway, it's not that I don't trust you or anything like that but I'm just not ready, not yet."

John nodded in agreement. "Of course, and if you want to wait for us to have a proper relationship I'll wait for you, we don't need to kiss or hug anymore, I'll wait until you've fully recovered from-"

Sherlock shook his head insistently and John stopped his words in their tracks "No, no, no. I just want to keep this," he gestured between them "at a low level for a while until I'm ready,"

"Are you sure?" John asked timidly, holding one hand up to Sherlock's cheek.

"Yes," Sherlock replied instantly, closing the little gap there was between them and lightly kissing John's lips "I'm lucky to have met you John, so lucky to have a second chance at living again," he added, whispering softly against the other man's lips.

John nodded "I don't want you to feel pressured into anything," he said softly

Sherlock shook his head "Never," he pulled the other man down onto the bed "lie with me, I have a feeling I've been sleeping better here than at that awful atrocity of a hospital,"

"Yeah, I'm sure you are, come on then," John said, snuggling up to his boyfriend and registering his ice cold skin "you're so cold Sherlock, honestly." John picked up one of Sherlock's hands and blew on it in an attempt to warm the long fingers and skeletal palm.

"John, you're fussing," Sherlock said "I'm trying to sleep,"

John smiled slightly at his put on arrogance, under which he knew was Sherlock's loveable side hid.

"Fine," he whispered in response into the shell of Sherlock's ear, noting how the other man shivered. With one last smile John pulled the duvet over them and laid his head back on the pillow, carefully tracing patterns in Sherlock's hair, caressing it softly until he heard light snoring from the taller man.

John and Sherlock slept better than had they had ever slept before.

**Just a little note to say that I want to apologise for any mistakes, I've spotted several in the first chapter and I cringed, literally, I cringed in humiliation at my stupidity. So I'm sorry. But also, the reason why these chapters are called "Untitled" is because it so so so so so so long to find a name for this story and I SO wanted to post it up!**

**Thanks for reading you lovely lovely people! **

**Nicole**

**X x x**


	4. Purpose

Untitled IIII

"No no no no no no no!" Sherlock shrieked at the TV "isn't it obvious? Of course he murdered that woman, everyone else has a water-tight alibi except him! And they call these programmes _real-life crime stories_? Honestly, you know John, if it wasn't for people who have those few extra brain cells in the Met Police Force, I think they'd end up arresting each other…"

John smiled at his boyfriend's intelligence, John had no idea where it could be used but he was sure Sherlock needed something to do at home to occupy the time to which he was away from Mrs Hudson's therapy sessions.

_Ding!_

John's phone rang out in the silence that had settled from the aftermath Sherlock's outburst.

_Hey John, _

_I know you've been taking care of Sherlock recently, and I know this is a little bit strange but do you fancy coming over for tea? I'm sure my husband would love to meet you and you could do with a break. I'm sure Sherlock is capable of being by himself for a few hours._

_Sarah x_

John's eyes narrowed at the spontaneity of the text but he texted back straight away.

_Sure, that'd be great. See you about 7?_

_John _

A reply to his text came almost immediately.

_Wonderful. See you then. I'll text you the details on where to find us, give me a tick._

_Sarah x_

John relocked his phone and put it on the side.

"Sherlock, I'm popping out for tea with a colleague, do you mind?" he asked, moving over to Sherlock's side, blocking his view of the TV.

Sherlock shook his head and tried to move his head so he could see the TV screen better.

"Sherlock?"

"_Sherlock,"_

Finally Sherlock looked at him.

"It's fine, I'll eat the risotto in the fridge," he said calmly.

"Good," John swooped down to place a kiss on Sherlock's unruly mop of hair "thank you," he added, running a thumb along Sherlock's cheek, he closed his eyes and pushed his head into John's hand.

John chuckled and checked his watch. Quarter past six; that gave him more than enough time to get ready. He walked back to his phone to find a new text message with Sarah's address and the nearest tube station, realising it was a good twenty minutes away he rushed upstairs and got into a shirt and cardigan, checked himself in the mirror and grabbed his keys.

"I won't be out for long Sherlock," he promised as he said goodbye "back by 10 at the latest,"

Sherlock nodded and kissed him.

"Have a good night, John," he said quietly

"Will do,"

X-X-X-X-X-X

The conversation passed very well during the meal, Sarah kept the conversation flowing. And her husband, Gregory Lestrade turned out to be an incredibly nice man, he was a police officer, well, a DI at Scotland Yard.

"So…this guy you're looking after," Greg started light-heartedly

"Yeah, Sherlock," John said

"How are you coping with him?"

"Well, really well, he's a bit of a handful but it'd be the same if I was working in the hospital all the time," John said honestly "and the thing is he spends most of his time shouting at the TV, telling me what's wrong with the news and reading the newspapers telling me about who murdered who,"

"He likes solving murders?" Lestrade asked, intrigued

"Yeah, he loves it, it's rather a morbid fascination, but it keeps him occupied for a little while, that is until he finishes the newspaper and starts to get bored again," John smiled at the memory of the last time Sherlock got bored and how John had kept him _occupied_ in the most innocent terms of the word (i.e. kissing him until he was sore-lipped).

"And is he in any condition to have a something to occupy his time?" Greg asked, leaning forwards "I know he's with you to get better but if he's as good as Sarah and you say he is and he gets bored easily how about I give him a few cold cases to look into?"

John turned his head to the side slightly and looked at Greg through narrowed eyes.

"Are you sure that's legal Detective Inspector?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Probably not, but who cares? If he wants something to do then I can fetch some from upstairs," Greg said quietly

John pulled out his phone "Give me a minute," he asked as he typed a text

_Sarah's husband is a police officer, I told him you were interested in solving cases._

_I'm being offered cold cases for you._

_Want them?_

_John x_

John sent the text and looked up at Greg.

"If he's interested he'll reply within a few seconds," John explained and as if on cue John's phone _dinged_.

_Of course I'm interested._

_Get home soon._

_SH x_

"He says "Yes please,"," John translated as Greg looked intently at him.

Greg's face split into smugness as he disappeared from the table and went upstairs to fetch a few cases.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"I'm home!" John said as he closed the front door

A pair of lips gripped his lips the second he stopped talking.

"Mmmfffsshhh- Sherlock!" John tried to say as Sherlock's lips ravished his face.

Sherlock's hands were feeling John everywhere, around his neck, pulling his hair, up the back of his shirt, making patterns on the skin of his back and making John melt in the process when Sherlock scraped down John's spine his nails.

"No, Sherlock, _stop! _Or I'll go too far!" John groaned, pulling back from the Sherlock assault

"God I really love you so much John," Sherlock said, pulling himself back and therefore letting John see him, his swollen lips looked truly beautiful, along with his flushed appearance and his tousled hair.

"Where are they?" he pleaded to John, who pulled out two files from behind him, Sherlock's eyes widened and John gave them to him.

"And there's plenty more where that came from, as long as you're right on these ones then Greg's going to send some more, okay?" John asked, looking at Sherlock's facial expression, which still looked like a child with a mountain of sweets.

"Thank you!" Sherlock exclaimed, sweeping down to quickly kiss John on the cheek and then ran into the front room to get the space and privacy to read his new cases.

John stayed in the hallway for a second. Wondering about Sherlock's parents and brother; not one had come to see Sherlock, or rang to see how he was and John pitied him. No wonder he felt like he was completely alone, no-one really cared, none of his family and he had no friends or spouses, that was, until John came along that is…

X-X-X-X-X-X

After a few hours of working on the first case Sherlock decided to join John in bed, he'd gone a while ago, complaining he had a sore head from an overload of wine at the Lestrade's household, Sherlock had merely turned and smiled before getting back on with the case.

Slipping into bed he noticed John's eyes were still open and facing away from him, making Sherlock feel like he was missing something.

"How's it going?" John asked, still not rolling over to face his boyfriend.

"I've solved the first one, simple really, the victim, a woman, who died of "unidentified allergic attack". Well, it turns out the woman and her boyfriend had recently had sex, going by the pathologist report; she was severely allergic to nuts and he'd eaten some Brazilian nuts earlier in the day, I presume, because they had unprotected sex and it's extraordinary because Brazilian nuts are one of the only nuts to have their oil carried in the semen of men and therefore causing the woman to have an allergic reaction when he ejaculated inside her, and then this caused the boyfriend to have no clue what to do and the woman ending up dead. Rather tragic if I'm honest, but then again, if the woman in question had _researched_ her allergy online then maybe she would have been wiser for the future," Sherlock said, trying to get a reaction from John but the other man just made an impressed chuckle and buried himself deeper into the covers.

"Well done Sherlock," John said, his voice muffled from the duvet "I'll hand it in to Sarah tomorrow and she'll give it to Greg, I need to pick a few things up from the hospital tomorrow anyway,"

"Ok," Sherlock replied, making himself comfortable and closing his eyes, trying to sleep, but it didn't happen, he _needed_ to know why John was angry at him.

But he waited, it could off until the morning…well, as far as his patience would let him…

X-X-X-X-X-X

**Sorry this is so short! I really am, I'm going to be a bit busy for a few weeks or so got three GCSE's next week so expect it to be a good week or so until I update again,**

**Sorry GUYS!**

**But I won't forget this story,**

**Promise**

**Hugs,**

**Nicole**

**P.S~ I would love some more reviews, I'm not being bossy or being mean, it's two minutes and I'll put a bit more effort into trying to get another chapter done a little sooner than expected…just a little incentive for you all**

**X x x**


	5. It's Time

Untitled V

Ok, instead of being a grumpy cow I'm going to start to answer reviews on my story, far less effort on my part, yes I'm lazy, and you get to be on my story for all eternity…yay, I think…

**Time Lady**: The point of the story is to make Sherlock a more cuter and less able man so him not being able to understand John's emotions was just something that appealed to me so much x it had to be done and John will see sense, bit of a shocker in this part of the story though, thanks for reviewing, hope you enjoy this chapter x

**You're All So Vacant**: Well hello yet again, I'm sorry I completely bombarded you with PM's but the ideas were literally speeding from my brain, Lestrade's reaction is going to be funny, read on to find out. I'll inbox you soon and we'll get down to business with this joint story stuff. Hugs! x x

**Miles2GoBe4ISleep**: Cool name, my computer however disagrees, stupid spellchecker! This is me updating! Hope you enjoy it and keep reviewing, it makes my day brighter and my brain that bit more keen to get on with this story!

{Listened to Golden Brown by the Stranglers –not emo at all, although it sounds like it should be}

Also, listen to "Strange and Beautiful" by Aqualung, it sums up the final scene for 2x03 of Sherlock, I would put the episode name if I could spell it but I don't want to look like a tit

At the {*} is just a little piece of music Benedict recommended a magazine a few years ago, it's a soundtrack to a movie called Birth with Nicole Kidman in and it's by Alexander Desplat and is called "The Engagement" well, along those lines anyway, he called it "uplifting" and "hopeful" something the film itself lacks but he's right, it has a certain tone to it that just sounds like it could pick you up after a hard day at work.

**THIS BIT IS M-RATED FOR SLIGHTLY EXPLICIT SEX, BUT NOT HUGELY EXPLICIT, I INITIALLY WANTED TO MAKE THE M STAY WELL AWAY UNTIL SHERLOCK WAS COMPLETELY BETTER BUT THEN I REALISED THAT ISN'T REAL LIFE, THIS IS MY FIRST UN-AIDED M SO BE NICE, AS ALWAYS x**

When Sherlock woke the next day he rolled over to find the other side of the bed completely empty and cold. John had been gone for at minimum an hour because the cold room still held an echo of John's scent and the clock next to Sherlock only read half nine.

Groaning in an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach Sherlock rolled over and felt like the world was about to cave in on him. He had another meeting with Mrs Hudson today and as much as he felt he could stand her company he still wanted nothing more but to lie in bed with his boyfriend and sort their differences out. He honestly had no idea what was wrong with John but he felt like it was a real brick between them, whatever it was he knew that John was only going to open up in time, and so, as a final conclusion to his lie in; Sherlock dragged his body from the cocoon of the bed and went into the kitchen to make himself coffee and start the day properly.

As he walked into the kitchen he noticed yet another post it note stuck to the fridge.

_Good morning,_

_I'm sorry about last night, we'll talk later,_

_just know that none of this your fault and _

_go about your today, we'll talk tonight, I'm _

_just getting your medication, I'll be back about eleven but I know your _

_appointment for Martha is at quarter past ten._

_I love you, don't worry yourself._

_J x_

Sherlock looked nervously over the note, he must have missed something, anything that had made John a bit worried and angry but nothing in his memory popped up. So Sherlock did as he was told. He carried on, anticipation holding his heart, clenching like it was a soft sponge being wrung of water.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"You seem a bit off Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, leaning forwards to look at Sherlock more clearly.

They were both sat in a chair in the spacious room, Sherlock wasn't usually this quiet but during this appointment he just felt himself reverting back to his former self. He felt exposed and like all of the trust he'd put in John had been for nothing, he had no idea why he felt this way, he knew it was completely irrational and stupid but he couldn't hold his own bodies reaction.

Slowly looking up to his therapist he cleared his throat and slowly began to talk.

"John, last night, went out for a meal with his friends and left me at home to watch TV and entertain myself, which is fine because I do like my own company because it makes me all the more grateful for when John's with me at home and it's like I have no worries in the world. But last night he came home and one of his work friends had told him that their husband was a police officer who was wondering if I wanted some cold cases to work on, obviously John had told him that I had an _interest_ in that matter. Anyway, I manage to solve one of the cases-"

"Congratulations, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson put in, making Sherlock smile slightly

"Thank you," Sherlock said before continuing "but yes, I solve this one case, and I decide to save the other for after this session, which is completely logical, no flaws or anything that could upset John but as I get into bed, he just seems, well, _unresponsive_,"

"What? You mean sexually?" Mrs Hudson asked cautiously

"Oh no! No no! We've not gone past kissing and touching, he's completely set on the idea of getting me better first and letting me make the decision for sex, and although it's rather annoying and sometimes instinct wants to take things further I remind myself of the goal ahead," Sherlock said quickly, wanting his therapist to know that this was a slow relationship and he was taking it seriously, after all, John was meant to just be his doctor.

"He just wouldn't talk to me, I could tell he was angry, but _why?"_ Sherlock rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. It felt really nice to have something just make everything disappear for a few seconds "and now he's gone for the day and I won't see him until I get home once this session is finished,"

"Sherlock dear, listen to me and listen well," Mrs Hudson said, looking him straight in the eye "you know that John loves you, so, so much. And whatever is going on in his head is probably some nerves or something, just let him express what he needs to, has he told you that he's going to explain his actions?"

Sherlock nodded weakly

"Well then, nothing to worry about, now, you get home and you talk to him, right away, I don't want any of this nonsense about time and making you more upset because you're here, I need you better and if the only way you're going to get better is to go back to John right now and sort this mess out then my work for this session is done. Now get a move on and _go!" _Mrs Hudson said finally

Sherlock looked up, excitedly. That flicker of excitement was in his eyes, something Martha had only ever seen when he was talking about John.

"Thank you!" he laughed as he got from the chair and kissed her on the cheek "_thank you!"_

Mrs Hudson just smiled and let him go.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Once he was back home Sherlock rushed into the front room.

"John!" he cried excitedly as he saw his figure on the sofa, but it was a very strange orientation of limbs, one knee pulled to his chest and clutched like a hot water bottle, a lumpy blanket covering the lower part of the man and a very panic stricken face, twisting in pain and sleepiness.

Sherlock gazed at John for a minute, just looking at his features, before realising that the dream he was currently in wasn't getting better, so he knelt down and lay a hand on his chest before calling John's name, gradually getting louder until it woke the sleeping doctor.

"Hey, I was sent back from Mrs Hudson, she said she couldn't be doing with my moping and we weren't going to get anything done until you and I were sorted out, I can't but agree, I can't think for the life of me why you were so angry last night," Sherlock said, sitting on the floor, cross legged so he was facing John's head.

"Look, Sherlock, there's something I haven't been completely honest with you about," John started and Sherlock looked worried "no, no, it's all in the past, I don't have to move away, this won't, well it _shouldn't_ affect our relationship but I want you to know. {he took a deep breath} When I was younger, my parents weren't the nicest of people, they did what they could but they struggled. My father was an alcoholic and my mother was always feigning ignorance to his disorder, telling me to stop lying to her, but even she could see for herself how much he was declining in his hours without alcohol. One night, he came home, mum was away, she often took Harry to the sea side for some time together once she'd saved enough money, but anyhow, it was just me and dad but he…" John faded for a second and then came back, tears starting to leak from his eyes "he, um…he…he {he coughed nervously} he raped me whilst under the influence of alcohol, I mean, it was a long time ago and I had extensive coun-"

Sherlock cut John off by pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting the salty tears that had come to rest on the little ledge of his thin lips, they broke for air after a few seconds.

"And I know it's not my fault but…I was 14…I hardly knew anything about sex, it didn't put me off being gay because I knew it was just who I was, my dad didn't have a part in it at all, but it certainly didn't make me feel like I wanted to admit I was to him, or else, I knew, it would get worse," John said, his voice staggered.

"Jesus John, how did I not see this?" Sherlock said, wrapping his long arms around the man in front of him and rocking him gently.

Never mind his problems John was facing a memory relapse and he had to cater to his needs as John had for him. Life is so screwed up.

X-X-X-X-X-X

{*}

For an hour the both of them just sat there. Together.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Silently they stood up, like a mutual agreement and went on their way to bed, each of them taking their clothes off and faint brushes of skin as they disrobed close together, only to each pull on their own pair of pyjama bottoms and touched hands as they fell into bed, John crawled in first, only to have Sherlock silently moved behind him and grasped his body, holding him safe.

"I've got you, no-one will get to either of us, we can work through this John," he whispered into his bed-mates ear, his voice so full of hope and sadness, all mingled together like some tornado of emotions.

"I know Sherlock, I know,"

X-X-X-X-X-X

"What?" Lestrade said loudly "is this guy having us on? Brazil nuts in a mans come? You said he was in a mental hospital but come on, this is more far-fetched than Anderson going out with the bloody Queen!"

Slamming the folder onto the desk in front of him he ran a hand down his tired face, screwing his eyes up and then gaining a hold on reality. But Sarah prevailed.

"Greg, it might be that Sherlock's right, just go downstairs and check with forensics, just do this, please," Sarah said, putting a hand on either side of her husband's waist "if Sherlock is right, well, you can let him help a little more perhaps, if not, then we let him have those final two cases John gave him and lay the whole thing to rest, okay?"

Lestrade looked at his wife, she was giving him that look.

"Fine, _fine_! I'll go check it out, but on your head be it Mrs Lestrade!" he said as he wondered from the room, heading towards the labs.

Silence filled the room when Greg told Anderson the hypothesis.

"Brazil nuts?" he asked dumbly

"That is _exactly_ what I said but would she listen, no, so I'm down here to prove a point, now get onto that computer and check whether it's possible, yeah?" Greg answered, yawning as he followed his colleague to the machine.

Anderson typed it into the machine and within in seconds both men were stunned into silence.

"That can't be right," Anderson said, checking another site

"Bloody hell it is though, look, _Brazil nut oil can be carried in the male ejaculate_, Jesus Christ, that's not just disgusting it's disturbing people know that as a common knowledge!" Lestrade said before hastily sweeping from the room "I'll finish the report on the case tomorrow, thanks for that, goodnight Anderson,"

"Night sir,"

X-X-X-X-X-X

John walked into the front room of the flat only to see Sherlock sitting, staring into space and lying completely still, if it weren't for the subtle movement of his chest rising and falling John would have panicked that Sherlock wasn't breathing but he knew better.

"Just got a text from Greg," he said to the corpse-like man

Sherlock didn't make any attempt at a reaction.

"He wants to see your work on the other cases, he wants to find out if you could solve those too, he's willing to pay you money if you do go along with it, not much, just a little bit in return for your services,"

Again. Silence. Sherlock didn't even blink.

"_Sherlock,"_

Suddenly it was as if the light in his eyes flickered on, and Sherlock's body started to tense as it got used to its surroundings.

"Sorry, you were saying something about a case?" he asked, absent-mindedly

John breathed slowly through his nose, in an attempt to calm himself.

Yes, Greg's impressed with you, wants you to carry on,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

Sherlock smiled at his boyfriend, and immediately his smile was returned.

"John,"

"Yes Sherlock,"

"Um, there's probably no easy way to explain this but I'm going to try. I really think that living with you is helping me, incredibly well and I was wondering if I could, well, _help_ you, I mean, in a more intimate way,"

John looked at Sherlock, his face contorted with confusion.

"You mean sexually?"

"Mmmmhh,"

"Are you sure? Because I don't want to force you into this…I want to wait until you really think you're ready for this,"

"I am John, I haven't cut myself for weeks now, no, wait, since before I met you. I generally feel better with you in my life and I can't imagine anywhere I'd rather be. And really…my last intimate sexual partner died bordering on 7 years ago, I don't want that to be the only time I've had sex because I feel with you, well, I don't feel like I have to hide anything,"

John stood there, he was so shocked, every time he thought he knew Sherlock, he'd say something totally new and wonderful and John loved that.

Stepping forward he hauled his boyfriend from the sofa, wrapped his arms around his minute waist and kissed the white skin that was revealed from the top of his shirt buttons not being done up. He pressed, slow, passionate kisses into the skin, leaving the man in front of him gasping at the intimate sensation, small gasps and "oh John's" made John continue with the ministrations and soon John's hands had untucked his boyfriends shirt from those illegally tight trousers and was slowly rubbing his thumbs in circles in Sherlock's lower back, causing more gasping and heavy breathing to follow.

Leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw line, John slowly sucked the skin behind Sherlock's ear as the other man just stood and enjoyed all the attention. They moved slowly towards the sofa, both of them breathing loudly. Sherlock lay on the sofa, only for John to climb on top of him and start to unwrap him from the confines of his shirt. With each pop of a released button from its hole John kissed the newly exposed skin, hot breath on the pale skin made the sparse hair on Sherlock's chest stand on end. Once the shirt was completely off John started to work on Sherlock's belt, slowly taking it off and pulling it from the belt loops, then placing it on the floor for later, he opened the trousers and saw Sherlock's eagerness in his boxers.

"This is just going to be me rubbing you, nothing else, ok?" John said, his voice deeper than usual, arousal tainting it and making Sherlock shiver in pleasure.

"Yes, anything, please," Sherlock whispered in return, pushing his hips up, desperately seeking contact.

John wiggled his hips nearer to the younger man's crotch and began to move them gently. Sherlock moaned loudly in response to this, thrusting his hips up to gain friction.

"Oh god—John, urgh, good," he said, his voice breaking

"I'm glad you like it," John said, giggling slightly as the pile of goo that was Sherlock's body. Sherlock himself thought all of his bones had evaporated and his blood was boiling so furiously he thought he was on fire. John kept his pace, moving his hips and making Sherlock make such wonderful noises. Leaning down to steal a kiss from the other man John pushed his body up against Sherlock forcefully. Pushing the climax from right out of him.

"Ah! Guhhh!" Sherlock shouted as he let his body go, releasing himself into his underwear and dispelling all the energy from his body, rendering himself useless, John felt the stickiness seep between his legs and it didn't take someone with Sherlock's huge IQ to figure out what had happened, smiling slightly he let it be, not knowing how something quite so disgusting could feel so intimate.

"That's all I'm going to do for now," John said quietly "I don't want to have sex with you until you're better but over the past few days I have been wondering whether or not we should do this, but I think it'll keep us stronger, make it easier to share our emotions if there's a way we can show our love, yeah?"

Sherlock still looked completely ravished. His neck had purple bruises on it and his lower lip was almost bleeding because of the way he'd been biting it, his chest was a battlefield littered with red marks like rose petals had been scattered across it. John continued to kiss the chest and nip at the milk-coloured skin. He looked truly _edible._

"You know, if your boss found out about this then we'd never get to see each other again," Sherlock said, his husky voice making it hard for John to pay attention to what had just been spoken.

"Yeah, well, that's not going to happen, I'm not going to let it happen," John countered, leaning his head on Sherlock's chest and listening to his heart.

After a few minutes Sherlock reached behind him and pulled out a blanket, opening it and covering them both they both soon fell into a post coital nap.

"We'll talk again when we wake,"

So yeah, that's this chapter done, not really happy with ^ but I guess we all have to start somewhere! My friend, **Tricia** reads these now and has been texting me saying "can't wait x" well, my dear wait no longer you shall...well, ish, because now you've got to wait for the next chapter. As always your reviews are complete joy to read and it's lovely to go through them or get them every now and again on my phone, as well as you WONDERFUL people who favourite and alert, I love you guys! Had so many e-mails saying people have favourited this stuff, be nice if you reviewed, I'm a review whore don't you know! And don't worry, Mark, Sherlock's dead boyfriend will come back in memory form and start to reveal a bit more of the story.

Love to you all,

Big Hugs and Love,

Nicole

X x x


	6. Decreasing Improvement

Untitled VI

White plains. All around his body. Fields of patchwork cream, valleys and inclines, going on forever. Sloping white like a hill after a blizzard moved as its inhabitant moved and started to wake. Amongst the white and cream lay curls of brown. Whorls of almost ebony hair lay across the cream fields, like chlorine gas in a trench it slowly moved as its owners head started to loll back into reality.

Sherlock first noticed he was wrapped in cream covered down as he woke. It was unbelievably warm and cosy. He nestled into the warmth and hid his head from the golden sunlight streaming in from the crack in the curtains.

"Mmmff Junn," he said, although even the owner of the words had trouble deciphering the meaning to what he'd just spoken.

The thing was; there was no reply.

A head of dark brown ringlets snapped up, only to notice there was nobody around. Rolling onto his side Sherlock heard a crinkle.

This was getting tedious.

Rolling back over to get at the note, Sherlock huffed in frustration as he grappled at the bed sheets to gain purchase on the rumpled paper.

_Had to go out._

_The usual, medicine, shopping and other boring bits._

_Love you._

_x _

Groaning at the unfairness of not waking up to his boy—no, lover, made Sherlock's stomach twinge in self-pity, why couldn't John be here? Reaching over to the bedside cabinet Sherlock grabbed his phone and typed furiously.

_Missing you, want you to be here, how long are you going to be?_

_SH_

Jabbing the send button Sherlock waited, patiently for a reply. And then it came a few seconds later making the tension strung man jump slightly.

_Still in town, just thinking that we could have breakfast out, I would like to treat you to it._

_Café Rouge, by St Pauls._

_Love you_

_X_

Half happy, half sad with need Sherlock hopped from the bed and made his way to his wardrobe, and pulled out his favourite shirt, a deep, dark blue, almost like the night sky. Pairing it with some stupendously expensive smart jeans Sherlock hurried into the front room, grabbed his Belstaff coat, his oyster card and mobile and set out onto the streets of London.

Hopping onto a southbound tube from St John's Wood to Stratford Sherlock got off at Bond Street, changed onto the central line and then journeyed eastbound until he got to St. Pauls.

Getting out of the station was the worst part, the mad rush of people entering the subway service over swept the dark haired man and Sherlock fell back on himself and tumbled down the tar-mac steps and back into the underground station, the world for a few seconds, maybe more, possibly less, went black, but Sherlock wasn't counting the time it took for the world to come back to him because his mind was reeling on the face he'd just seen. Dark floppy hair, the most beautiful eyes and a body encased inside a charcoal suit.

Mark. Mark. Mark. Mark. **MARK!**

Sherlock's mind was in overdrive, so many emotions, he'd only glimpsed at the face for a second and his befuddled brain was creating the most vivid picture in his mind, those eyes. Jesus, he never thought he'd see those eyes again, or that hair, he missed that with John, running his hand through a considerable amount of hair, holding it tightly as they clung on to each other in the night and as they made love. Tears were welling up. Shit, _shit!_ And then it hit him.

John.

John was waiting and Sherlock, whilst he couldn't move or even open his eyes at the moment, felt like he owed the man an explanation, after everything they'd done and said over the past few weeks, months even, he felt like he couldn't give all his heart to this man because he was still tied to Mark. And now he'd seen him, well, _if_ he'd seen him then it would all be fine, right?

Oh but hang on. Why had Mark disappeared? Had it been Sherlock? Why hadn't he come into contact when he had the chance? If Mark had suffered short term memory loss then why had his "body" been buried? Who had been in the casket? Was it just a misunderstanding or was it actually all planned? What if he—

"Mr Holmes!"

Sherlock bleary eyes opened to the sound of the snappy voice. A paramedic was leaning over him and an incredibly flustered (A/N: Yes Tricia, flustered) Underground Assistant was looking intently at Sherlock.

A deep baritone groan came from within Sherlock's throat, to tell the people above he could be heard.

"Mr Holmes, we need to contact someone for you, your mobile, where's your mobile? Don't move your body just tell us or use your hand to point, don't move your head," the paramedic said clearly

"Right...hand…pocket," Sherlock breathed as he tried to regain the breath he'd lost as he'd been winded by the fall "John…Call John,"

The paramedic nodded and reached for the phone, pulled it out and then tried to open it.

"Sir, the phone is locked , please can I have the key?"

Sherlock gulped guiltily and sniffed "It's…one three, one, one eight, one one,"

The paramedic looked confused before he put his straight face back on and getting on with the task in hand, pulling away from the man on the floor and the assistant who looked more shocked then Sherlock he scrolled for the name and then rang John's phone.

"Keep him talking Miss," the paramedic asked as he waited for John to answer

She nodded and looked at Sherlock intently.

In Sherlock's opinion she wasn't incredibly ugly, she had thin banded glasses on, clean, shoulder length, mousey brown hair, big blue eyes and a pair of lips coated in sticky, pink glittery lipstick, it was as if she was trying to be a sixteen year old version of herself when in fact she was at least a decade ahead.

"What's your name?" she asked softly, not trying to make him uncomfortable or making herself unprofessional.

"Sh-Sherlock," he answered, still shell shocked by what had happened in the last twenty minutes or so.

"Good, so, Sherlock, you have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"Bo-boyfriend," he stammered

"Right, and that's John, yeah?" she said

_So, not as dumb as I first thought_ Sherlock said internally

"Yeah.." Sherlock felt sleepy again, his head started to loll, his head told him to close his eyes but now there was another voice.

"Sherlock!" it shouted "come on now, stay awake, if you fall asleep we can't monitor you, please, open your eyes!"

John.

Sherlock forced his eyes open and saw John's worried set reflecting back at him.

"Come on, we need to get you into the ambulance, that's all just hold on, yeah?" John said, making Sherlock fight the urge for his eyelids to droop once more.

"3, 2, 1, LIFT!" people shouted from all sides and Sherlock felt weightless for a second as he was heaved onto the stretched, his neck was in a brace, when did that happen? But John's image was swimming above him and by God he was going to hold on for that man.

"J-J-J-John!" Sherlock said as he was taken up the steps into the fresh air and towards an ambulance

"Yeah, Sherlock!" John replied, at his side in seconds, clambering into the vehicle as Sherlock's body was hauled in.

"I saw him John, he's not gone, I saw him and I know it was him, he looked the same, I can't believe it, I can't believe, after all this time and it looks like he hasn't aged a day, but I knew that he would come back, I wished so much for him not to have and left me but there he was and I just can't believe it…I have to find him, I can't leave him now, I need him John, you don't understand, I've seen him and obviously he must've seen me so he must know I'm alive too, oh God, I wished this day had come earlier!" Sherlock babbled as John looked incredibly confused from above.

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?" John asked, fear littering his voice, inside he already knew the answer because it was so obvious but he refused to admit it until Sherlock had said it himself.

"Mark, John, I _saw_ Mark!"

John closed his eyes and tried not to cry as his heart tore itself into little pieces.

Sherlock's crazed eyes looked at him intently, not realising the damage he'd done.

"He's alive John!" he whispered

John looked away, his face screwed up in pain, everything they had worked for, making Sherlock better and giving him this one to one help, being there, loving him and comforting him when he needed it the most. None of it mattered now, because Sherlock was back at stage one, his right hand was trembling and there were fresh scratch marks on the inside of his left elbow, jagged ends of Sherlock's nails looked full or dead skin cells and John looked once more into those demented, wide eyes and realised that he had done all he could, he'd done everything within his power.

They arrived at the hospital and John was forcing the tears back, making himself strong for his patient, no longer lover, he was gone, he was long, long gone and had been replaced with the most manic part of Sherlock's spectrum to which he'd ever laid eyes on.

_Oh fuck…_

**A/N: Hello, sorry, been so so so so so so so so bust lately! Honestly, if I haven't been doing homework I've been revising or learning my steps for my new production, and if not that then I've been sleeping or trying to squeeze out ideas for this chapter, and Christ, they have been in incredibly short supply lately. Um, well, I would tell you when I'm next going to update but I don't know myself so really there is no point in that what so ever, I would like to thank everyone who favourited and alerted this story, yet again, I would be a bit more hard working if I could achieve that higher amount of reviews which is why, meanly, I am only going to update this story if I get 4 or more reviews, I've been wondering for a little while now what to do and the idea came from someone else's brain do kudos to who ever thought it up. Ummmmm also, the Café that Sherlock and John were meant to go in is just by St Pauls and I really couldn't recommend a nicer café, well, except Speedy's because they're always so friendly and have brilliant bakewell tarts and lovely coffee (black, two sugars). What else, what else? Oh yeah, my friend Tricia who is celebrating her last week as 15 and is joining us 16 year olds soon, she's the one who kicked me up the arse and persistently trying to make me write and as my very good writer friend Georgia said "You can't rush genius," and then added "or Nicole's story," and yes, she is right too. And as the peeling of bells rings out 8 o clock and then carry on because of the nearing bell ringing tournament in our town I realise I have kept you far too long.**

**Missing you already,**

**Hugs,**

**Nicole**

**X x x**

**P.S~ Urmm, please don't hate me for the plot twist, the plot bunnies were holding a loaded carrot to my head and told me to write….they MADE me do it.**

**Also, can anyone guess what the passcode to Sherlock's phone is? It's just a little teaser, if you think about it I think you'll get it. Love to you all x x x **


	7. The Memory No One Knew

**Disclaimer: My surname sadly isn't Gatiss, Moffat or Vertue. One day it will be Cumberbatch though.**

**I know; it's been too long. Just read this sorry excuse for a chapter and review if you have time.**

14th July 2005

Blackout curtains were heavily draped across all light sources and there was a bundle of musty sheets were wrapped around a body which was barely moving, apart from the steady breathing and the occasional sob that escaped the living being's body. They weren't over the top cries, but woeful, pitiful cries that would make a stranger want to ambush the emitter into a frenzied hug, because, at the moment, the body spread across the ground, with the most dreadful, gut wrenching pain squirming in their stomach, was incapable of doing anything but curling up and try to sleep for the rest of their life.

Their eyes were drooping, and the stagnant darkness that they lay in was making them so sleepy. That they couldn't help but be pulled into a re-creation of their worst nightmare that they had be forced to live.

*Dream Flashback*

Slow tempo music was beating from the speakers in the front room, as Sherringford had moved forwards from the side door and down the main hallway. A smile was gracing her features, a warm, happy smile that would have told the world how content she was in that moment, and of course she was, why shouldn't she be?

As she walks towards the very front room of the house, the one that overlooks the acres of garden and the koi carp filled pond she starts to have a butterfly effect in her stomach; she knows it's stupid because they've known each other for so long but she can't help but feel those fluttering insects in her stomach, the feeling of doing something completely _wrong._

As she entered the room there's a distinct smell of Lily's and as she peers more, spread across the sofa, a glass of champs in one hand and condom in the other.

"You see, Darling, I don't know which one to use first,"

Sherringford had almost exploded with happiness, if she had been honest in that very moment she could have been the one who shows the world that joy can seep from one's pores and radiate into the room. Looking at the man lying on the most expensive leather sofa money could buy with the most expensive bottle of champagne and the most expensive condom in hand was probably one of the most incredible and faint-worthy things Sherringford had ever seen.

"Come here, my beauty, everyone is out and we have 4 glorious hours to ourselves until my wretched finance comes home with his brother and your parents," he continued, putting the condom down and then running a hand through his floppy brown hair, only to stand up and saunter over to Sherringford- in tempo with the music of course- and then hand her the glass of champagne he'd been gracefully nurturing in the other, spare hand.

"Only a week left," he whispered as Sherringford took the glass and he slipped his arms around her waist.

"Tell me," she urged him "tell me how much you love me,"

"Mmmm," he replied, leaning down to nuzzle her neck, placing chaste kisses on it and leaving her breathless each time

"Je t'aime plus que tout, plus de la terre ou la lune, plus que ma fiancée. Je t'aime, Sherringford, plus que la vie elle-même."

_{I love you more than anything, more than the earth or the moon, more than my betrothed. I love you, Sherringford, more than life itself}_

"Oui," she breathed as he started to nip at her neck

"Je veus embrasser tes lèvres toute la journée et toute la nuit. Je veux que nous ayons l'immortalité tout simplement pour que nous puissions baiser pour l'éternité. Une fois que tout cela est fini, mon amour, ma bien-aimeée, nous pouvons être ensemble."

_{I want to kiss your lips all day and night. I want us to have immortality just so we could kiss for eternity. Once this is all over, my love, my sweetheart, we can be together}_

"Yes," she whispered, before realising time was slipping through their fingers like sand, she pulled back and looked at him, dead in the eyes "A l'étage, maintenant. Et porter le preservative." She paused, and thrust her hips forward suggestively so that his eyes fluttered shut at the friction "Et la boîte."

_{Upstairs, now. And bring the condom-_pause-_and the box}_

As they ran to the nearest bed, it would most likely be Sherlock's because Sherringford did like to be cruel but her brother would never see it himself, he was too "in love" to notice even the clearest of things, let alone a 3 year-long affair.

"Je t'aime, Mark. Tellement."

_{I love you, Mark. So much.}_

_*End*_

A raspy gasp woke Sherringford up. But the waking itself was most likely the knock on the door.

Moving from her hovel of a den that smelt far too disgusting to belong to such a rich and fallen graceful woman, Sherringford pushed past the suitcases that were packed with new, freshly bought from Oxford Street clothes, but the cases lay forgotten, gathering dust in the hallway that had accumulated junk in such a short space of time.

Opening the door to the random stranger Sherringford half hoped it was a madman, with a knife, preferably to kill her quickly and get it over with, hopefully to stop this awful aching in her stomach. Forever.

But you see. It did far worse.

Because there, standing in impeccable clothing, dressed in the most finest linen money could buy. Was Mark Michalowski.

A long breath was pushed from Sherringford's shocked lungs.

"Y-you…fu…w…," she shook her head and looked up again at the sight in front of her, then Sherringford Holmes found her tongue.

"You fucking BASTARD! You made me think you were dead, for A WEEK I have mourned you, I have shed tears for you and cried out, I've screamed in pain for you, I have felt my heart ripping it two like wet cardboard because of you! Have you any idea what you've put me through?"

Mark stood in the doorway and looked down.

"Can I come in?" he said simply

Sherringford scoffed "You come here, show up on my _fucking_ doorstep and ask me to come in like I invited you for afternoon-_fucking_-tea! I don't know what you were expecting to find but-bu—b-"

Sherringford didn't finish the sentence because she had already lunged forwards and pulled her lover into the most loving hug she could muster, she knew she smelt and that she wasn't a pretty sight but her beloved was alive, and in that moment, she felt that soggy cardboard slowly re-attach itself together by the tiny fibres it was held together by.

Sherringford cried into his jacket for an hour before they sat and talked.

+ 3 hours

"This is your captain speaking, it will take approximately 1 and a half hours to get to Paris, we hope you enjoy your flight and please listen for the chime before you unfasten your seat belts,"

One man and one woman left for Paris that afternoon. The woman was very well cleaned, her auburn hair was neatly tucked up in a bun, the man was wearing a light grey suit and his brown, fly away hair was perfectly set with merely a ruffle from his hand.

+ 2 hours

The couple disembarked the plane. Leaving their old life behind them, following their new life in front of them; with no worries or cares.

No-one in the Holmes family saw the young girl since. Not even Mycroft Holmes could detect his sly sister; but then again, during their childhood, she did always beat him at Hide and Seek.

**Look, I know this is just a tiny filler but to be completely honest I don't know what the fuck am going to do with this story. Look ideas would be brilliant. To be honest I would appreciate more reviews. Please.**

**PLEASE- 5 REVIEWS MAY MAKE ME WORK HARDER & GET MY BRAIN INTO GEAR WITH THIS PLOT-LINE. AND PM ME WITH ANY GOOD IDEA'S PLEASE. MY BRAIN IN **_**MELTING.**_

**Love. You. All.**

**X**

**Remember:**

**Review = A kiss from Benedict and Martin, one on each cheek {and when I say cheek, make with that what you will ;) } **


	8. The Day the Dead Walked

Untitled VIII

There was the gentle hum of machinery and the repetitive beeping of the heart monitor was the only thing keeping John awake, ever since Sherlock had been karted into the hospital he had gone wilder and slightly madder, his eyes seemed to bulge from his head manically and John seriously feared Sherlock was about to strike a nurse because of the agitation he was showing so, eventually, the doctors agreed to administer a sedative, just to make their job easier.

Looking at his face now you wouldn't believe that this man had managed to go from someone who was recovering from grief to someone who was, yet again, close to a nervous collapse.

As the time grew longer, the sedatives grew less and less in Sherlock's bloodstream and soon the man in the bed was twitching, his fingers grappled at the sheets and John got up from his seat and cupped his face.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and met John's.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay, it's all fine, you're safe," John whispered softly

"Mark, where's Mark? Why isn't he here?" Sherlock babbled, looking around

"Sherlock, Mark died, you know that, you told me that, please, remember," John begged as the man below him struggled to sit up

"John, I saw him, on the underground, I saw his face, he isn't dead, please, believe me," Sherlock pleaded

John looked into Sherlock's eyes.

"I can't Sherlock, I saw the reports, I looked at the newspaper cuttings and the family statement, no, he's definitely gone,"

Sherlock closed his eyes slowly, solemnly.

"Sherlock, look at me, all you need is a 24 hour check over here and then we can go back okay? I know you miss Mark, that's obvious, but please, try to remember you have me now and I won't stop you from loving Mark but just focus on the now, don't get dragged back into the past, it's not always somewhere you want to go,"

Sherlock just nodded.

"I'm going home, I'll pick up some clothes, let's just get through this, yeah? Soon we'll be back to normal, I'll be back soon, I promise," and with a squeeze of Sherlock's hand he left the room.

After walking out of the hospital John didn't notice the black van going at break-neck speed behind him as it screeched down the road, the last thing John noticed was the black pillowcase that was shoved over his head and the smell of expensive cologne.

"Ow…" John gasped as the fogginess of consciousness, he knew he was tied to something; his hands were bound behind his back. John was defenceless to his captor.

"Oh, so glad you can join us, Doctor Watson," said a male voice

John's eyes were still blurred as he tried to look at the person in front of him.

"Who are you?" John rasped, his vocal chords lacking use.

"Oh, goodness, how rude of me, you may have seen photo's but they are rather old, about seven years old,"

The penny dropped with a nasty clatter.

"Mark," John spoke quietly, eyes wide.

"Well, you picked up a few of his magic tricks, that freak, the man you're trying to help but you'll never save him, I made sure he would always come crawling back to me, always loyal to the man he lost in a tragic, tragic day," Mark said, grinning at John.

"You are a complete and utter **bastard**," John seethed

Mark giggled "I may be that but it was better than marrying a complete child, I never wanted to marry that spoilt brat, I may like men and women but he was the person that was constantly looking for reassurance "Was that okay?" "Do you want help?" "Oh Mark, do you love me?" honestly it was the most pathetic thing I'd ever heard, what was I supposed to do?"

"You should have loved him! You should have bloody loved him!" John bellowed

Mark just laughed harder.

"Oooooooooh, look at you, Mr Big Man, where will_ you_ be loving him from? That's right, a darkened room, strapped to a chair, have fun with that," Mark said sarcastically, sauntering towards John "you're more fun than he is, maybe I should keep you for myself,"

"Piss off mate," John spat which was rewarded with a slap, John felt his cheek sting "what are you going to do to him?" he asked quietly

"Well, you may not know this, but while I was engaged to Sherlock I was screwing his sister," Mark whispered, his lips so close to John's ear it was causing him to shiver "the family would go out and we'd spend the afternoon shagging in Sherlock's bed _because we could_,"

John silently fumed as the man leaning over him licked the shell of his ear.

"The fool didn't even notice; he was so "in love" that he didn't even notice!" Mark hissed "I would meet up with his sister and then fuck her into his mattress and then I'd wait for him to get home, shag him and make sure he never climaxed, he drove me _crazy_, and now, when I go back to him I'll talk to him about his boyfriend who found me at your flat and told me you were leaving because you've never loved him and he'll go back to me, he'll come back to me _crawling_ and_ begging_ for forgiveness,"

John sighed and looked up at Mark "What's the point of all this? Why do you want to go back to him?"

Mark laughed shortly and pressed their foreheads together, John quickly turned his head away from the unwanted contact.

"Because, baby, I need his money, Sherringford and I need more money, our villa in France is costing more than we thought, so I need his bank account to pay for it," sneered Mark, running a hand through John's hair "and no-one is going to get in the way of that,"

Mark ran his hand down John's face "Anyway, I have an old friend to catch up with, see you later, handsome,"

"Piss off,"

Mark just laughed loudly as he walked away from the other man who was livid, confined to his chair.

**A/N: Okay, so this fic is really neglected, I've done this today and I'm happy with the opportunities that I can manipulate with the final few chapters. Can I please say a HUGE thank you to EVERYONE who Favourited, Alerted and Reviewed, I've just finished my GCSE's and went to go and see the repeat of the live version of Frankenstein twice which brings the total up to three times- twice with Benedict as Victor- anyway, all reviews spur me on even more and I hope you want me to continue. Remember, each click of that "Review" button makes me type faster :D (remember you have to review soon because I'm off to London in a few days and I won't be able to write anything until I get back :o) x**

**P.S-if anyone ever watched the BBC's "The Hour" then why not read my story on my Tumblr page? My name's "The Big Sherlock Who"- I know, inventive….it'd be lovely to have people PM me about it :DD x love to you all x x**


	9. The Michalowski Method

Mark's POV

So good to be back in London, although, why I'm here still makes me want to leave. I can't believe I have to go back to this bastard, honestly, he's so clingy, needy, he'll probably expect sex soon once his beloved, _me_, rescues him and tells him the truth about his boyfriend and how I caught him leaving poor little Sherlock without as much as a goodbye to dear little Holmes. Anyway, I know where he's currently hauled, in a rancid hospital nearby. So here I am, weeding out the money that Sherringford can't access because only Sherlock and his insufferable brother are the only ones who can, sexist families drive me crazy, honestly, why does everything take so long with this family?

My thoughts drift to Sherringford and back home in the South of France, as much as I loved her and her ways I hated the fact that she came from such a dysfunctional family. I enter the hospital and go straight to the reception desk and turn on my best smile for the receptionist. I see her eye catch me in her view and she smiles back, as if she can get someone like me, if I was available (which I always am, by the way, in a relationship or not). Keeping my eyes on her I casually lean on the desk and wink slyly.

"Good afternoon, I was wondering if you could find where a friend of mine is. I heard he was in an accident in an underground station, collapsed, I'm sure you're taking good care of him," I smiled again, maybe I should stop with the smiling, I should be a bit more serious…damn.

My happiness apparently didn't rouse any suspicion and the girl behind the desk blushed slightly and looked on her computer.

"Could you give me his name please, sir?" she said

"Sherlock Holmes," I said coolly

She typed the name into the computer and got a result, I could tell, she looked incredibly pleased with herself.

"Sherlock Holmes, third floor, room 307," she said, trying to sound clever- and failing miserably.

I smiled at her again "Thank you, and has anyone told you how much those pink scrubs bring out those beautiful blue eyes?"

She blushed deeply and shook her head "Well they should," I said, tapping the desk twice and then casting one last smile over my shoulder I left the desk, spotting the elevators I quickly walk to the nearest one that was about to go up. I run the last few steps and get into the lift, jabbing the "3" button I give a wink to the receptionist, who giggles pathetically, before the doors slide shut and begins its journey upwards.

The third floor finally arrives after two people exit on the second floor and I begin to hunt for the room that will bring me closer to my new fortune.

I find it, with a sigh of relief I knock on the door twice and get a small reply before I enter.

"Now, Sherlock, don't be afraid, just let me explain," I say as I open the door slowly

Nothing could prepare me for what happened next, I was assaulted, pushed up against the door by the lithe figure who wrapped both arms around me and hugged tightly until I couldn't breathe. Constantly saying words that are unintelligible to me, whispered into my shirt. He peeled his head back from my chest and looked up into my eyes, I could see how frightened he was, how he felt that if he even let me go for a second that I would disappear from his grasp.

"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, I knew you'd come back to me, I knew that death couldn't part what we had Mark, you have no idea how much I've missed you, God I missed you so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so much, where have you been? Why didn't you contact me earlier?" he pleaded to me

And in that moment I see how raw this emotion is, how much he actually loves me. _Christ, get a grip_ I chastise myself _this is not the time to be getting soft, just get what you came for_.

"Sherlock," I said, his eyes closed, obviously cherishing the sound of my voice, thinking that he would have never heard it again "I will explain everything to you, I promise you, just answer me something, I went to where you were staying, I met a man,"

"John?"

"Yeah, that was his name, he was packing, Sherlock, he was filling up his suitcase with his stuff, he told me that he was leaving London for a while and go to his family, was he close to you?" I said, running a hand through his hair slowly, I could tell he was welling up.

"Leaving?"

"Yeah, was he close to you?" I said innocently

"No, no," he said, but I could tell another part of his heart was breaking

I pulled him back into a hug resting my chin on his head as he sobbed quietly, I wasn't sure if he was sobbing at John or me, I hoped it was me.

XXXXXX

John's POV

_FUCK SHIT BUGGERING FUCK TWAT PRAT WANKER! _ I internally shout at myself, pulling at my ropes that bite at my wrists behind my back. For god's sake, I was in Afghanistan, I fought on the front line and now I couldn't even escape for a complete twat's rope skills and save the man I love.

"FUUUUUUCCCKK!" I shout loudly, I have absolutely no idea where I am or how I got there so I don't know how loud I have to shout for someone to hear me but going by that bastards brain I take a wild stab in the dark that there probably aren't many people near here.

_What do I do? What do I do? Is he coming back to me? Will he come back to taunt about how he has Sherlock now? Will Sherlock even take him back? Of course he will…_John shook his head as tears collected in his eyes_ that _bastard_ is with him now, probably, messing with his head. Why would he believe that I'd leave him? I would never, ever leave him, he doesn't deserve this._ John's body started to shake uncontrollably, he soon realised there were tears rolling down his face, cold, quiet tears wracked his body and he couldn't stop. It wasn't like John Watson to give up hope but he honestly couldn't think of a way out, his mind had just stopped working and all he could do was let his emotions overwhelm his body.

"Doctor Watson?"

**A/N: A HUUUUGGEE THANK YOU TO ALL THOSE WHO FAVOURITED, I THINK IT'S 38 AT THE MOMENT, NOT SURE THOUGH… ANYWAY, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS, AND THANK YOU TO ALL WHO COMMENT, PLEASE DO SO AGAIN, THAT BUTTON IS LIKE AN EXTRA CARROT DANGLING OUT OF MY REACH, IT'LL MAKE ME TYPE FASTER.**

**Love you all,**

**Nicole**

**X x x**


	10. The Lies Begin

Northbound on the Piccadilly Line X

"Don't leave again, please," Sherlock whimpered; all his deductions and knowledge thrown out the window, becoming an echo of the man John had made him.

Mark tutted internally and put on a small, reassuring smile.

"I'm not leaving you, I promise," he said, rubbing Sherlock's back gently.

After a few minutes Mark steered Sherlock to the bed, arranging both of them in a way in which meant that Sherlock could curl into Mark's embrace.

"Why didn't you come home sooner? Why didn't find me? Tell me you were okay?" Sherlock said peering up at Mark's face, he looked like a child in infancy, big eyes wide in fear of Mark dissipating into the ether but also inquisitive.

"I was found on the tracks, by a man, paramedic. I was taken to hospital, I had severe amnesia, I couldn't remember the past five years of my life," Mark started "I couldn't remember you, I found your ring in my jacket pocket, remember, that was the day I was going to have your ring adjusted to fit. I got mixed up in the whole explosion, my bag got torn to shreds and thrown across the carriage, burnt and unclaimed I didn't realise it had my ID in it so when they took me to hospital I had no sense of identification so I was confirmed dead, no-one knew that I was alive but I couldn't remember anyone to tell them I was in hospital so I was lost, like driftwood I was moved on to a new home, I tried to remember but I couldn't so I lived a new life, new name, new everything, I had nothing to go on and I started again. And then, about a month ago I started to remember, I remembered certain things, me proposing to you, your name, and from there I went to finding where you were now. I'm sorry that you did what you did, for me, because you thought I'd died."

Sherlock let the tears fall down his cheeks, he wanted to hate Mark but he couldn't let himself. Mark couldn't help it if he had amnesia. But what about John? John, the man who had come to help, who'd made his world better and clearer and so much worthwhile. John had given him so much love and things that Sherlock couldn't possibly give in return, so much love that Sherlock wondered if any of it had been real. Why had John gone? Why didn't John say anything? Sherlock's brain was so confused his head had started to throb ever so slightly.

Mark could sense Sherlock's discomfort and sniggered quietly to himself, but carried on with his main incentive.

"As you can understand I'm rather low of money, can I borrow some money from you? I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate, I've been working in temporary locum ever since my memory went and now it's back I'm hoping to get back to my banking job in the City again," Mark asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Sherlock nodded shortly and nuzzled back into the warmth of Mark's chest.

His plan was working. This was going more smoothly than he'd anticipated, Mark had prepared a full-on pathetic speech about how much he loved Sherlock and how he knew that it would take time for their wounds to heal but Sherlock hadn't needed any of that. As soon as Sherlock had set eyes on Mark he'd forgiven him.

And that was exactly what Mark wanted.

**A/N: Short chapter, but better than nothing. X x x**


	11. A Stranger Saviour

Northbound on the Piccadilly Line XI

"Doctor Watson?"

The unfamiliar voice echoed through, what John guessed was the entrance of the place he was being held.

"Hello?" John replied, desperate for help.

The person who rounded the corner was incredibly tall and the light from behind him lit up the edges of his smoothed, ginger hair. Shadows fell across his serious face, highlighting his rather large nose; he walked quickly towards John but looked as if he kept his caution, only to stop within a metre of John, just to be certain.

"Doctor John Watson?" he asked the man bound to the chair

"Yes, who are you?" John said, irritated that this man hadn't helped him yet.

"Dr Watson, my name is Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. Now, I have on good authority that you are the attending Doctor to my brother, the question is, however, how you ended up here," Mycroft said coolly

John rolled his eyes in irritation "If you untie me, I'll tell you everything, but believe me, I don't think my hands have any blood left in them,"

Mycroft nodded, understandingly "Of course," walking around to the back of the chair Mycroft removed the casing to the ferrule and revealed a knife.

Mycroft showed the blade to John "Don't worry, Doctor Watson, I have steady hands,"

John just scoffed "A knife at the end of your umbrella? Really?"

"Do you want me to leave you here? I don't appreciate sarcasm, thank you," Mycroft said bitterly, raising his eyebrows.

John just smiled widely and let Mycroft cut his binding.

"Right then, what's going on with Sherlock?" Mycroft said, replacing the cap on the tip of his umbrella.

John took a deep breath "He was placed in my care and he started very well, being out of the hospital helped, I still don't understand why you allowed that, by the way, he was improving, every day, he was getting better and better. I even got him some puzzles to solve from one of my mates who's in the force-,"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft cut in, John cocked his head to the side

"You know Greg?" John asked, really confused.

"Yes, him and I have had a very _close_ relationship recently," Mycroft said slowly, almost wistfully, as if he was remembering a vivid memory, but then seemed to realise who he was talking to and he corrected quickly "purely professional, however," but John didn't fall for it. Greg and Mycroft? Greg cheating on Sarah? Today had been so full of new information Johns' head was starting to ache.

"Anyway, yesterday, well, I think it was yesterday, Sherlock saw Mark in St. Paul's underground station, then he went slightly mad, rambling, shouting, completely…well…gone. He was reverting back to when I first met him in the hospital. I was terrified this time it had been too much and he was never going to come back to me. And then Mark decided it was time that he and I should talk-"

"Yes, he managed to elude my staff in Paris station, much to my disappointment," Mycroft said testily "did he tell you how he escaped?"

"No, but he told me who he escaped with," John said

"He was having an affair? I always assumed if he was Sherlock would have noticed, he always have been the most observant of the three of us," Mycroft dubiously

"Yeah well love does funny things to you," John said quietly "known as 'rose tinted glasses',"

Mycroft looked confused "Who then?"

"Your sister," again, John's tone was quiet and offered a sympathetic side

Mycroft

Mycroft just stood there, dumbstruck.

"Sherringford?"

"It sounds like affairs run in the family," John muttered quietly

Mycroft sent him a riled look, complete with narrowed eyes.

"So, to the hospital?" John said, clapping his hands once and then getting up from his seat.

"I doubt Mark will have stayed there, he probably persuaded Sherlock to sneak out. We need to track him, I'll get my assistant onto it immediately," Mycroft said bitingly, punching the keys on his phone, obviously he didn't like taking orders.

John started walking towards the exit, impatience seeping into his body.

"Doctor Watson, where are you going?"

"_To find Sherlock," _John replied, throwing the door open and walking out.

XXXXXXX

"Stay still, Sherlock," Mark hissed

Mark had to admit all of this seemed terribly cliché, Mark was dressed in full (stolen) scrubs and was wheeling Sherlock out in a wheelchair he'd found in a nearby corridor.

"Hide your face more," he whispered as he smiled at a passing nurse who gave him a strange look

Sherlock pressed his face into his hands more as he hid his face from peering eyes. They were nearing the exit when there was a call to them from behind.

"Excuse me, sir,"

Mark spun round to see the receptionist he'd flirted with.

"Oh hello again," he said smoothly

"What are you doing with that patient?" she asked "and why are you wearing scrubs? I've never seen you before,"

"Oh that's' because I'm only here for a short time, my name's," Mark thought for a second and a brilliant idea came to him "Doctor John Watson, I'm from a specialist hospital, to take care of Mr Holmes, he's just asked to go out for a cigarette, I've told him to cut down, but he just won't listen," Mark laughed shortly and looked at the woman in front of him "is that okay?"

She narrowed her eyes and then nodded slowly "I suppose so, I'll give you five minutes,"

Mark nodded and then continued to wheel Sherlock out of the hospital.

"Let's go and start again," Mark said, Sherlock just looked up and grinned stupidly, it was like everything was back to normal.

**A/N: Okay, so this is where I'm up to currently, if any of you lovely people could PM me with idea's I'd love, love, love to hear then and you'd get a shout out too :) x **

**P.S IT'S BENEDICT'S BIRTHDAY! YAAAYYYY! I WANTED TO MAKE A CAKE BUT REFRAINED AND SO INSTEAD I JUST DOWLOADED NEW PICTURES OF HIM FROM THE BATMAN PREMIER INSTEAD; BEING A STALKER IS JUST SO FUN.**

**Love and hugs, hugs and love,**

**Nicole**

**X x x**

**P.P.S-all reviews make my stomach flip with excitement by the way, it's that wonderful feeling that there are people out there who give a shit :) x x x**


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